Suture
by PellNell
Summary: With the success of "Dentonvale," Farley Flavors has showered Cosmo and Nation with whatever they desire. They should be satisfied, but Mac doesn't seem to care for luxury anymore.


"Suture" by PellNell

Author's Note: This is my first "Shock Treatment" fic, and it's a simple one-shot I started on a whim last night.  Feedback is greatly appreciated.  See you 'round like a record!

Disclaimer:  I do not own any of the "Shock Treatment" characters nor did I create them.  If I had though, it would be really clool because then I'd probably spend every waking hour with Richard O'Brien 'cos I would be Richard O'Brien.  I guess I wouldn't have anyone to drool over that way though.

Nation McKinley inhaled the room as deeply as she could.  She absorbed it all; the musty smell of the warehouse, the springtime detergent Ansalong washed all the linens with, the chardonnay on her lips from dinner, Mac's clean, cologne scent, everything.  She could hear Ansalong's falsetto mingling with the snaps of Ricky's Polaroid camera, Bert's quiet snoring in the next room and the gentle sobs, the culmination of Neely's nightly lamentation.  As she lay back on the immaculate bed, she closed her eyes and listened to the deafening sound of her brother's silence.  On any other night, she'd be gasping for air or biting her lips by now, but tonight was different.  Cosmo had caught the wanderlust bug again.

                It had been apparent since Monday.  Nation had first noticed it when Mac started organizing all the patient files by hair color.  It had taken him a day and a half, but he'd managed to squint at the grainy photographs or recall from memory every person who had walked through Dentonvale's doors.  He spent the rest of the afternoon flipping through a worn Roquelaure novel and listening to Bach in his office.  He took dinner in the office as well.  He sat on the floor, skewering pasta and looking for paddle scenes.  The office door had been locked, but Nation knew that and hadn't tried to open it, in fear of offending Mac.

                The next day, Cosmo was awake before the crack of dawn.  Nation had gone to retrieve that ugly blonde twit's file- the tepid woman had an allergic reaction to some medication- and found him knee-deep in records once again.

                "Mac, are we forgetting that the files were just re-organized yesterday?" she had asked in a rather condescending tone with one line of an eyebrow arched just-so.

                He didn't look up.  "I need to make things more efficient around here.  Everything's in disarray.  It disturbs me."

                "And how are you ordering them now?"

                He heaved with an annoyed sigh.  "Every doctor knows a system based on what patients consume is the wave of the future.  Don't you read?"

                Nation gave him a small kick in the side.  "Well, while you're down there, hand me Tilda Parks's records."

                "I'll have it to you by lunch."

                "I need the file now, though," she said, crossing her arms over her chest.   Her toes clacked on the linoleum floor, _tap-a tap-a tap-a_.

                Mac waved her away incredulously and continued browsing Herman Jem's record.

                "Now, Cosmo," Nation commanded in a voice that shocked even her.

                Mac threw the file to the floor and stood up to his full height.  He bristled like an alley cat caught in a corner.  "Who do you think you are?  Mother?" he acidly spat.

                Nation shrank back.  "No, I just…needed it, that's all," she replied quietly, turning on her heels.  She dashed out of the room as quickly as possible, leaving Mac to his own devices.  She didn't dare return until the afternoon, when all the records had been neatly reorganized and Tilda's sat alone on the desk.  Cosmo ate dinner with the patients in the terminal ward, and then returned to the staff quarters only to soak in the tub.  It wasn't until after Nation had already fallen asleep that he climbed into bed.

                Farley had given a speech today, and, as was customary, required a grand assembly of his 'Sanity for Today' crew.  Nation woke at six to prepare for the day's events.  Mac was sleeping like a log, and she hadn't the heart to wake him.  She was certain he'd be up in time for the meeting; he never missed a good discussion of the articles in 'Psyche Weekly.'  However, fifteen minutes after the gala began, Cosmo, Ansalong and Ricky hadn't come or phoned to inform the group that they would be late. 

                "I'm sorry.  They're usually so prompt," Nation apologized.  "I can't imagine what could be keeping them."

                Just then, the missing persons dashed into the room.  Well, Mac pranced in, happier than a clam.  He ran ahead, his fingers quivering with excitement.

                "I've just created the new Dentonvale uniform," he cheerily informed the room.  "Look!"

                Ansalong entered, draped in shiny red fabric.  As happy as Mac was about it, the only remotely scrubs-looking aspects were a short nurse's skirt and cap.  The fabric slithered up Ansalong's left leg, around her waist and arms, and came to rest as a low-cut "Barbarella"-esque top.  The nurse grinned.

                "Isn't he a genius?" she beamed.

                "Absolutely!" Ralph Hapschatt replied, saliva practically dripping onto the table.  Macy Struthers gasped and delivered a sharp kick to his shin.  He howled and rubbed his leg while Macy shot Ansalong death glares.

                "It's stunning, Dr. McKinley," Farley added.  "A bit impractical, but I'm sure our residents will appreciate it."

                Ansalong squealed and pressed her arms together, forcing her chest to spill out of the dress.  Like the chivalrous white knight of legend, Ricky leapt forward and wrapped his jacket around his lover.  He then tore off a piece of fabric from her train and fashioned a make-shift shawl.

                "What are you doing?" Cosmo exclaimed.  "You're ruining the balance.  You can't have all the attention be drawn up here."  He stepped forward to yank off the scarf.  The nurse blushed and giggled at her own exposure.  Ricky forced the jacket around her.

                "Oh, it's just a dumb old dress," Ricky told Mac.  "And is it really such a crime for her not to be falling out of it?"

                "It's okay," Ansalong piped up, patting Mac's shoulder.  "It is just a dress, Dr. McKinley."

                "Just a dress?" Cosmo muttered, his tone rising like the steam from a teakettle.  Nation could almost hear the sound of whistling.  "Just a dress?!  I spend my own hard-earned money giving you a nice new uniform.  I let you- you of all people, plain old Nursey- be my model, and this is how you repay me?!"  He stamped off without so much as nodding at Farley.  Ansalong looked like she might break down and cry.  Nation gasped.

                "Mr. Flavors, please excuse my colleague.  He's not been himself lately," she offered.

                "It certainly looks that way," Farley replied, eyeing Ansalong with the most grotesque of expressions.

                Once their sponsor had delivered his speech and groped the nurse ("You nearly fell over!  Good thing I was here to catch you."), Nation slipped back to the psychiatric offices to search for her partner.  Mac was in the dining room with a plate of cold poached eggs in front of him.  He stared blankly at the marshmallow walls that refused to look back.  The latest "Dentonvale" script lay unopened on the counter.  He didn't so much as glance at Nation when she entered.

                "That was absolutely uncalled for," Nation said placidly.

                "Oh, shut up," Cosmo answered as he shoveled a bitter bite into his mouth.

                Nation picked up the virgin document from the long dining table.  She caught her reflection in the glass for a moment and noticed for the first time just how frazzled she appeared.  "You haven't been through the new episode yet, have you?" she asked.

                Mac shook his head.  "No."

                "How do you suppose you'll carry on, then?  There's less than an hour to go."

                "I'll wing it," came the apathetic reply.

                "That is completely reckless.  You, of all people, should know that."

                His fork fell to the tabletop with a loud clatter.  "Let's see if I can remember how it goes…a random schmuck gets some kind of psychological disorder, the loved ones grieve, we reassure them it'll be okay, Farley screws the tearful spouse, and we cure the patient.  Am I right?"

                Nation placed her hands on her hips.  "Fine.  You think you can do it?  Be my guest."

Her sibling pushed out his chair and walked towards the doors.  He gave her a flippant wave.  "I'll be in wardrobe.  Have fun dancing for nickels."

That was the first time Nation had had to play the role of doctor by herself.  She'd coolly explained to Mr. and Mrs. Mullan that her brother was unwell and had isolated himself so that his sickness wasn't caught by an unsuspecting innocent.  The couple had nodded in an oblivious sort of way, the manner in which someone who doesn't know any better would react.  Mrs. Mullen was suffering from post traumatic stress disorder after Little Susan was hit by a car.  Ricky and Ansalong mindlessly tended to the woman, ensuring that her brief guest role was as comfortable as possible.  Mr. Mullen had been happy to drop off his wife at the expensive day care center, and quickly shuffled off to the set of "Karen's Kutesy Kitty Kat Klub" to spend his hard-earned money.  Tomorrow's episode promised lots of family drama, including Mrs. Mullen's infidelity after meeting the show's benefactor.  The audience ate it up.

After a quiet dinner with Bert, Nation retreated to her bedroom.  Cosmo was sitting up in bed, reading an F. Scott Fitzgerald novel.  He grimaced whenever he read one of Jaye's unrelentingly unrealistic lines.  Nation climbed into bed with him and began nibbling at his ear.

"What's wrong?  You can tell me, baby brother," she cooed.  She watched his shoulders rise and fall as she kissed his forehead.  "It's been too long, darling.  Much too long."  She slowly undid the buttons of his shirt.  He said nothing and moved not an inch.  Nation grabbed his hands and placed them on her blouse.  The muscles of his fingers began to stretch, but fell limp after a moment.

"Not now," he whispered weakly. 

Nation sat herself down in his lap.  "Oh, you're so bored, aren't you?  Tell big sis all about it," she murmured as her hand drifted up his thigh.  He turned away, quivering, from her.  It was not until she kissed his lips and reached for the switch beneath the bed that he caved.

As starved as she had felt before, the hunger only pressed more now.  There was the empty feeling of deprivation in her depths, and she'd felt his longing all the stronger.  It was more prominent in his lack of focus, his clumsiness and his utter silence and apathy.  She'd tried to encourage him with falsities, but he hadn't taken the bait.  Now, she and her brother lay like two stone statues in the room, their eyes attuned to every bump on the ceiling.

Nation thought Mac had fallen asleep until he spoke.  "I'm sorry."

"For what?"

"Just…now, and this week."

"You don't have to say anything," she said softly.  "I know."

"Know what?"

"I know how you feel.  You always get like this."

"You can't possibly understand," he drawled, closing his eyes.

"I've done everything for you since the day you were born.  I think I understand what goes on in your head.  It's not as though you're not one of the patients."

He groaned.  "Please, don't mention any of those drones.  I'm sick of them, and I'm sick of being Farley Flavors' 'Sanity' whore."

"Are you so sick of comfort, Mac?" Nation gently asked.  "Sick of the gourmet meals, the fabric and supplies, the convertible?"

Her mind raced a mile a minute.  How soon could they leave Denton?  How quickly could they find another shell to crawl into?  She wasn't sure she even wanted to.  They had everything a person could want; Farley spared no expense for his highest-rated program.  If she wanted a new dressing room with a vanity mirror trimmed with rubies, it would be waiting for her the moment she woke.  Her glass was never in want of more champagne.  Their bank account – if she cared to check up on it- was more than any resident could hope to see in three lifetimes.  God only knew how many subordinates they were allotted.  Sure, the job itself wasn't the most exciting, and the sleepy town was no Milan, but they had more than they could possibly want, didn't they?

Cosmo didn't answer her.  He merely turned on his side and sighed.  He was suffocating, Nation knew.  Too much of the same scenery and people drove him crazy.  He could care less about the pay and luxury "Dentonvale" allowed.  If he spent another day in this purgatory, he'd be poorer than the lowest of beggars, a king forced to wallow in the mud with the pigs.  Two years ago, in Munich, he'd sunk into such self-pity.  Five years ago, he'd grown tired and depressed with Sydney.  Before that, he had become exasperated with South Africa, London, Belize, Anchorage, Berlin, Beijing…  The list seemed never-ending.  Each time, Nation had complied with his whims.  _Perhaps next time he will change his mind_, she had thought to herself with each move.  Yet, each new town brought less gratification than the next.  She could feel his arms grasping out to touch the green light of home, but the closer he got, the further it seemed.  He kept chasing though.  Nation imagined he would keep at it until he ran out of road.

She could stay here, though, couldn't she?  She could hold her own on the show.  She had just as much training as her brother, and she was older.  The oldest was always the smartest.  Let Mac run off by himself, let him get lost in the woods.  She wasn't his keeper, and she was nearly positive he wasn't hers.  This notion ran through her head each time Cosmo became bored with his surroundings.  She didn't have to leave.  He was not indentured to her.  She would not be his prisoner.  However, one quick glance at him, and she imagined an existence without her adapted, careful lover.  He wasn't her first by any means- _Lord knows I did but one thing during high school_- but he was her only.  How pleasurable it was to allow the flesh of your flesh, blood of your blood what you could never give anyone else.

Nation sat up in bed, and rolled Mac onto his back.  She pulled herself up onto her hands and knees and moved over him.

"How quickly can you pack?" she asked, sucking gently on his neck.

He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her closer so they were flesh to flesh.  "As quickly as need be." 

"I'll make all the arrangements with Bert.  Tomorrow, we will wake up before the sun arrives," she murmured into his chest.  "We will walk off the set as though nothing is different, as though it is just an ordinary day."

"And what then?" he moaned.

"And then we will take a jet plane to a place where you have never been," Nation added, breathing slowly and rhythmically.

Cosmo let his lips linger on her shoulder.  "What about the plane ride?  Will it last long?"

"Oh, yes," his sister answered.  "And you'll be tired and you'll sleep with your head in my lap like when we were children.  Do you remember?  It's a long ride; yes, the longest yet, but we'll get there.  We'll get there…"


End file.
